


After It All

by Infinite_Infinite



Category: The Librarians (TV)
Genre: American Sign Language, Anxiety Attacks, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ezekiel Jones has PTSD, Grieving, Growing, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Jenkins is Dead, M/M, Mute Ezekiel Jones, Nightmares, Post Se4 Ep11, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Sign Language, Slow Burn, The LITs go for a drink, familial librarians, hurting, like really slow burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-26
Updated: 2018-09-23
Packaged: 2019-03-24 10:19:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13809156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Infinite_Infinite/pseuds/Infinite_Infinite
Summary: Grieving, crying, and dragging their feet. Their hearts are heavy, like the liquor they're drinking. It just doesn't seem real. It just hasn't sunk in. They doubt it ever really will.





	1. Dolorem

**Author's Note:**

> So, I watched the latest episode of season 4, and I'm ready to suffer, so here, suffer with me. Spoilers for season 4, episode 11, don't read if you haven't watched it yet.

Ezekiel was numb. He never once thought it would end like this. He wanted it to end in one last victory, and resign knowing that he'd done his part to save the world. 

But things never go to plan for the librarians, right?

He leaves the annexe with an arm around Cassandra's shoulders, whispering empty words. 

"It'll be okay," he says. He doesn't mean it. Cass knows that.  She nods anyway. 

Jake has an arm around Cass' waist, holding her steady. She's shaking so much he doubts she could walk on her own. 

"I need a drink," he says simply, leaving it an open invitation. 

Ezekiel is the first to respond. "Yeah. Cass?" 

She nods. She can't find the words to respond. 

 

They push open the door to the nearest bar. The beer is cheap and nasty, but the burn it leaves behind is the only way any of them can feel something. 

Jake burns with an anger that he doesn't know how to extinguish. 

Cassandra drowns in her thoughts and drowns her thoughts in alcohol.

And Ezekiel? Ezekiel thinks of every single outcome, explores every single 'what if' he can come up with. 

_what if I had sacrificed myself?_

_If I had just taken one of Jake's knives and done the job myself?_

_That would have been one less librarian to deal with._

_What if I had stopped that chest plate before it hit Jenkins?_

_He would still be around._

_And I would die knowing I saved my friends. Saved my family._

_It should have ended that way._

"It should have been me," Ezekiel speaks into his glass. It's quiet, and Jake almost misses it under the murmur of conversation buzzing around them.

But he doesn't. "What?" he asks. It's all he can think to say. 

"It. Should. Have. Been. Me." Ezekiel grits his teeth, steeling his voice. It still cracks, like he's on the brink of tears. The way he sounded in the video game. Jake knows that voice. It's the voice Ezekiel had when he truly felt lost. When he had nothing left to lose. That voice was the raw and real Ezekiel Jones, the man without the mask. "I'm Ezekiel Jones, the expendable one."

Stone can't comprehend his words. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" is all he manages. The broken look on Ezekiel's face tells him that was the wrong thing to say. 

"You're not expendable. You're a part of this group, whatever we are now. Cass, Baird, me, we don't think you're expendable. We love you, man. You are as expendable as Jenkins was. If we had lost you, we'd still be in the same damn situation. We'd be at the same bar, drinking the same crappy beer, wishing we could undo what's been done. Not a single one of us is expendable-  _you_  are not expendable. There's only one world-class thief. So shut your trap, drink your watery beer, and stop being an airhead. We need you around, Jones." 

There are tears in Ezekiel's eyes that weren't there before. Stone doesn't notice, but they're in his eyes too. 

"Ah fuck, I tried so hard not to cry," the thief murmurs, and a laugh escapes his lips. It's a hopeless laugh, empty, hollow, but somehow it makes the weight on his shoulders that little bit lighter.

A watery smile is shared between the two men, and they slip back into mournful silence. 

A voice speaks up. 

"I love you guys," 

The two turn to where Cassandra is sitting.  She drags her dishevelled hair out of her face, tugging it into a ponytail, revealing her face. Her makeup is streaked and blotchy, and her eyes are rimmed with red, but she sits there with back straight, both hands nursing her whiskey.  

"I love you guys so much," she repeats. The two sit in a stunned silence, unable to respond. They don't need to. "A-and I never told Jenkins and now it's- well, now it's too late. And I never told Eve and- and- and- who knows where she is now- burning the library to ashes or looking for Flynn or contacting Nato to rejoin the forces- I don't know. I never told them, and now I'll never get the chance to. So I'm saying it now. I love you guys so so much. You're like my family- no- you  _are_ my family. You took me in, even after I betrayed you. You've saved me, cared for me, and you've changed me for the better. I wouldn't be the Cass I am today without you- without all of you. So, before I never get the chance to say it again... I love you. I love you so much," 

They're all crying now, tears running silently down their face. She downs the rest of her whiskey, leaving the glass on the counter, and pulls the other no-longer-librarians into an embrace none of them wants to let go of. The hug silences the questions running through everyone's minds; the mantras of _what happens next?_ and _where do we go from here?_ and they just hold each other close, silent sobs staining their shirts and stinging their eyes. 

Another set of arms wrap around the three of them, and they break away quickly, trying to see the extra addition. A familiar air of authority sinks in. A fash of blonde hair and blue eyes tells Cassandra to around, and she locks her arms around Colonel Eve Baird. The blonde freezes for a moment, before hugging her back, chin resting on the top of her head. 

"I love you," Cassandra cries, her voice muffled against Baird's shoulder. She pulls the other two into a hug that feels like home, allowing her tears to fall after what has been a decade of hiding them. 

"I love you too," she soothes, and none of them knows who she's talking to. Maybe she's talking to Cassandra, telling her she feels that familial connection. Or maybe she's talking to all of them, letting them know that it will all be okay. Either way, they all hold each other that little bit tighter, keeping each other that much closer. 

None of them wants to let go. None of them wants to forget the family they've made for themselves at the Library. 

So they don't. 

"Let's go home," Eve murmurs, walking her librarians towards a door that will never again glow blue. 

And for the first time in a long while, not one of them feels scared to be walking through it. 

They have no idea where home is anymore. 

They have no idea what lies ahead. 

But they're together.

And that in itself is home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Luctus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They're all starting to heal.  
> Well,  
> almost all of them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a trigger warning for this chapter. there's talk of eating struggles in days& weeks pass, and mental illness in 'months pass' and 'six months pass'. Please please please be careful if this sort of stuff is triggering to you. Stay safe xx

Days pass. 

Casandra hasn't gotten out of bed in four days. She's been sleeping the hours away, letting the duvet on Baird's sofa swallow her sniffles and stifle her sobs. She'll force a few spoons of soup down her throat and shower at Baird's insistence, but she hasn't been forced out of bed as of late. So she doesn't get up and instead wastes away beneath Baird's spare duvet

Jake spends all day at the gym, punching at a training bag with no wrappings and lifting weights that are too much for him. It's the only way he knows that will take away the rage in him. His knuckles are split, bruised, and shattered. He should probably get them set by a doctor, but he can't bring himself to do it. It's his punishment, and he'll bear it all the way to hell. 

Baird feels hollow, like a piece of her is missing. Her life revolved around being the Librarians' guardian, and now her life has been stripped away, taken by the very place she devoted herself to. The rug beneath her feet has been pulled away, leaving her to fall into the aftermath. 

Weeks pass.

Ezekiel's running on autopilot. He wakes up at six am every day on the dot, not a minute earlier, not a minute later. He dresses, puts on his sneakers and runs for two hours. He pushes himself, hoping that the burning in his calves can actually make him feel something. He doesn't stop until his chest is tight and his limbs feel too heavy to push forward any longer. He turns back and forces himself to run back to Baird's place. It's pretty bare, spare for the suitcases, airbeds and sleeping bags that litter her bedroom floor. The sofa from Stone's apartment has been put beside Baird's bed so that Cass isn't on her own downstairs. Then he forces himself to the gym, working until every muscle in his body aches.

He drags himself home and heads straight to the shower. He sits, knees huddled to his chest under the scalding jets until they turn to hammers of ice against his skin. He gets changed and then cleans the house from top to bottom. He'll organise for most of the week, but Wednesday is cleaning day.

 Baird is working in a florist's a little way down the road and comes home in the evening exhausted and in need of a nap. So Ezekiel holds the fort while she works to pay the bills. He's taken up a job working at the museum in the city and acts as a tour guide for the teens interested in archaeology and mythology. It's only a weekend job, but it's decent pay and helps buy the groceries, so he's hardly going to complain.

He pulls Cassandra out of bed and makes her eat half a slice of buttered toast and then forces her to take a shower. He washes Baird's and Cass's bedsheets, alongside the clothes that spill out of Stone and Cassandra's suitcases. He folds the clothes away and remakes the beds, as well as replacing the sleeping bags he and Stone have been using, allowing the old ones to air out. He vacuums the carpets and kitchen floor, scrubbing at carpet stains and running the mop across the laminate floorings. He washes up yesterday's dishes and puts them away, and then starts on dinner- chicken parmesan with noodles for Baird and Stone, Soup for Cassandra (it's the only food she can manage properly, anything else sticks in her throat), and Ezekiel has the other half of Cass's toast from earlier. He's lost his appetite since losing the Library and is lucky if he feels like eating at all. 

_"Jones, you've gotta eat something substantial. You can't just live off of toast forever,"_

Baird's voice rings in his head and he ignores it, munching on the food that feels like glass in his throat. He swallows it anyway. 

 

Months pass. 

Stone works his way out of his gym cycle and gets his knuckles and fingers sorted at Ezekiel's demand. He gets a job teaching at NYU as a professor. He teaches ancient Egyptian history and History of the arts. The pay is good, and he helps Eve sort the bills. He'll cook dinner every once in a while to give Ezekiel a break, and he makes sure to check up on Cass every few days to make sure she's doing okay. 

Cassandra gets out of bed and showers of her own accord. She attempts to eat a bowl of spaghetti bolognese. She manages the noodles, but the meat makes her feel sick. She tries a bite of Chicken casserole and doesn't keep it down. She tries Ezekiel's vegetable soup and finishes all of it. She declares herself vegetarian and starts looking up dishes to try once she gets back into the swing of eating proper meals. She still has days where she just can't make it past the living room, but she's getting there. 

Eve quits her job at the florists and joins NATO once again. She's gone for months at a time, but she's got her family around to keep the engine running smoothly. They have a movie night whenever she comes home and now she's back out doing what she loves- saving lives and protecting the ones she loves. She doesn't mention Flynn or the library, but Jenkins' ashes sit above the fireplace. Ezekiel catches her having conversations with the urn sometimes, but doesn't call her out on it- he does it too. Even in death Jenkins never gets any peace and quiet. 

Ezekiel's still on autopilot. He has to be, or he'll break. He's hurting. He never got the chance to grieve, and now it's catching up to him. But he powers through it and gets by, day by day. He fakes a smile now and then, but usually just keeps to himself. He's working full time now, with shifts every other day, and Friday afternoons. He passes the metropolitan library on his commute and he freezes up every now and then, but he pushes it to the back of his mind. He's fine, really, he swears to himself. 

He doesn't fake a smile when Baird comes home though. She's become something of a mother figure during and after his time at The Library. She's always going to be his guardian. He's okay with that. So is she.

He's still stealing, but he's set himself a code. He only steals from the corrupt, and he does it to benefit the struggling. His vigilante actions have given him quite the reputation as 'The Knight of New York'. He goes under the alias Galahad. Baird approves. 

 

Six months pass

Ezekiel's eating habits go from unhealthy to dangerous. He'll force down half a sandwich, but only if Jake sits him down and forces him to. He's running on sleep and caffeine alone, eating makes him feel sick.

His morning jogs take a turn for the worse. He's feeling sluggish and fatigued- and he knows why. Whenever Baird leaves for a mission, Ezekiel's self-preservation goes out the window. He doesn't ever feel the need to eat, so he doesn't do it. He's lost so much weight that his shirts hang off of him, and he opts to wear deliberately baggy jumpers so that nobody notices. He can feel the judgemental eyes of Jenkins on him whenever he passes the urn, but he just shoots him a look of 'don't you say a word'. Jenkins doesn't tell a soul. He never even speaks. 

His arms feel heavy and his legs feel weak, but he forces himself to keep going. He's burning out. The world spins around him as he moves, and the ground comes up to meet him. 

He blacks out. 

The next thing he knows, he's got a pounding in his head and a numb burning feeling in his arm. There's a hand clasping his own, and he can sense someone in the room with him. He doesn't acknowledge them. 

"God Jones, what have you done to yourself, hm?" 

Stone's low whisper is the only noise that doesn't hurt Ezekiel's head. There's a harsh light that burns through his eyelids; it hurts like hell. 

"Stone?" he tries to speak, but it comes out as a hoarse whisper, and through his unfocused vision he sees Jacob leaning forward, scooting forward in the chair he was in. 

"I'm here. I'm here Jones," he murmurs, giving Ezekiel's hand a gentle squeeze. 

Slumber pulls Ezekiel back under, drowning him in darkness and dragging him away from the land of the waking. He falls asleep to the sensation of his fingers lacing with someone else's. He sleeps for what feels like years. 

When he regains consciousness, those years seem like seconds. 

He forces his eyes open, lashes stuck together from the residue of sleep, and gritting his teeth, Ezekiel pushes himself up, only to fall flat on his back again. His arms still burn from the way he'd been pushing himself at the gym, and his head pounded with what felt like a thousand miners hammering away at his skull, but he tried to sit up again anyway, forcing his eyes to stay open. He falls back again, and gives up, laying back where he was. 

His room is empty, the ghost of Stone's hand chilling his palm. He clenches his hand into a fist and winces at the way his movements are sluggish and numb. He blames it on the medication he assumes he's on and shrugs it off. 

The door to his ward clicks open, and a nurse walks in. He quickly closes his eyes and forces himself to relax, steadying his breathing. He's played dead before- during one of his heists gone wrong- and this was exactly the same- except he could openly show his breathing this time. The nurse speaks in a light, cheery voice. Ezekiel hates it. 

"Good afternoon, Mr Jones. You've got some visitors waiting to come see you- a man and two women. Aren't you the popular one?" she says, pulling back the curtains in his room. Weak sunlight filtered through the small windows, burning at his closed eyes. "I know you're asleep and all, but it's nice to have a conversation, even if it is one-sided, I guess," 

She walks back towards the door- Ezekiel's only escape-route - and pulls it closed after her. It doesn't click shut though. 

"Your visitors will be in shortly," 

A soft click of the door and Jones opens his eyes halfway, just enough to see that he's alone once again. In his peripheral vision, he can see people walking down the hospital corridors, some heading one way, some heading the other. His eyes flicker shut when a headache threatens to present itself, but he catches a glimpse of blonde and auburn walking down the corridor. He can only hope that the blonde is Jake's decision to look like one of the backstreet boys, and not Baird having returned from a NATO mission all because he couldn't eat like a normal person. 

His door clicks again, and he hears two sets of shuffling footsteps enter his room- one in flats and one in what sounded like heeled boots. Cass and Baird. 

"Oh god, Jones, what have you done to yourself?" Eve's voice comes out as a broken whisper, and Ezekiel can practically see the expression on her face. It's the same face she gave him during the video game- that look of utter helplessness after finding out Ezekiel had seen them all die on a constant loop. 

A cool hand rests over his limp one, fingers curling around gently and soothing his warm skin. He struggles to lift his heavy eyelids, the need for sleep being too great, but he refuses to fade out again-  not while Baird is here. He has to talk to her, tell her he's okay. 

"..ve..." he breathes, his voice hoarse. "...Eve..." 

"Ezekiel," she says quickly. A chair drags loudly across the laminate flooring- it sounds like a thousand screams to Ezekiel. He winces. "Ezekiel thank God you're awake," 

" 'M alright," he mumbles, squeezing her hand with all the strength he could muster. " 'M still kicking" 

She laughs, but it's not a humorous laugh. It's the sort of laugh that someone lets out because they don't know what else to do. It's a laugh of _'oh you,'_ and _'of course, you'd say that_ '. "Glad to know that you're still you enough to underrate the size of your problems,"

Slumber tugs at him again, but he fights it. He's already been out for a week, he doesn't need to rest for any longer. 

"Get some sleep, Ezekiel. We'll be right here when you wake up," Baird says gently, stroking a cool palm across his forehead. He does as he's told and sleep swiftly takes over

* * *

 

 

He's still asleep when Jake returns from Baird's apartment, face cleanly shaven and some fresh clothes on. He still hasn't slept, but that's hardly his fault. He's too worried about that idiot thief lying unconscious in the hospital bed. 

He nods in greeting to Eve and Cassandra, who are sat outside Ezekiel's ward looking anxious and forlorn. Eve nods back, and Stone enters Ezekiel's room, perching on the chair beside his bed. He rests his forearms on his knees, crossing his hands over each other and letting them dangle lifelessly between his knees. 

"You've given us a right scare, Jones. Poor Cass is doing math like crazy out there," he chuckles, one lone _'ha'_ slipping from his lips. There's a heavy silence that collapses in on him, making his chest tight. He hates it.

Ezekiel looks so peaceful in his sleep. His brow is relaxed and his lips are slightly parted, giving him a more open expression, rather than his secretive daredevil thief face. Jake prefers the thief-face. At least it means that Jones is awake. 

"I know how hard you tried to keep it together- for all our sakes- but... but you've gotta let yourself hurt, Jones. Lean on people, yeah? 'Cause sometimes... sometimes all you can do is lean on people. You don't have to put on a face in front of us, Jones. Even autopilot won't save a crashing plane," 

The thief's fingers twitch in his sleep, the only evidence showing he's really there at all. The monotonous beep of the ECG does nothing- merely adding to the fuzzy background noise. 

"You can lean on me if you need to," Jacob murmurs, his voice cracked and wavering. "Just please don't... please don't end up in this bed again," 

Tears spill over icy blue eyes, dripping down unsmiling cheeks. 

"...ne..." Ezekiel mumbles, eyebrows furrowing. His fingers twitch again like he's trying to reach out to someone. "S... stn..." 

_Stone?_

Gently, Jake places a hand on Ezekiel's, calloused fingers running across perfectly smoothed knuckles. His fingers stop twitching and his eyelids flicker, long lashes quivering. 

"Jake..." Ezekiel breathes, eyes open halfway, arm stretching out towards him. 

"I'm here, Jones. I'm here," he says softly, taking Ezekiel's hand in his, squeezing it gently. 

Ezekiel takes a deep breath in, eyes flickering shut again. He's been in and out of consciousness for a few days, the nurse tells Stone, so he just assumes the thief has drifted off again. He shifts in his chair, going to stand up and leave Ezekiel to rest when his hand is gripped surprisingly tightly by the boy in the bed. 

"Stay?" he asks weakly, his half-lidded eyes looking scared and vulnerable. Stone nods, sitting back down on the chair. He can't bring himself to leave, not with Jones looking at him like that. 

"...Thank you.." Ezekiel murmurs, his voice laden with exhaustion. His slips away into slumber again, and Stone stays by his side, his hand caressing the thieves.

 

Ezekiel is discharged two weeks later, scheduled with a therapist once a week. He doesn't speak for the entire time he's conscious. The ride back to Baird's place is deafeningly silent. 

"You've got your first session this Tuesday coming, and then it'll be every Thursday after that, okay?" 

She sounds like a mother, and Ezekiel isn't sure whether he hates it or not. Part of him is screaming that he's perfectly fine, and doesn't need to burden people with his shit. The other part is weeping, begging for someone to hold him up, or he'll crumble. 

He's unsure of what to say, so he doesn't say anything at all. 

He doesn't speak for the rest of the day. 

He doesn't speak for the rest of the week. 

He doesn't speak for the entirety of his first session and instead stares blankly at the therapist sat in front of him. Dr Linda Marten, did she say?

 

And it's not like he's forcing himself to remain silent. He would talk if he could. But there's a lump the size of a boulder stuck in his throat, and it's keeping down a scream. 

He's living on the top floor of a house of cards and the slightest breath will send it all tumbling down. 

So he doesn't breathe. He doesn't swallow down that lump. Because if he does, 

he'll fall.

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeesh that was long. Wasn't expecting that to take so long to write (I was literally hit with a wave of homework. Art, Music, English, German, and Maths, all in the space of two days, and I've been struggling to write ever since) BUT I'M BACK, BABY! 
> 
> and yeah, sorry for the severe angst in this bit. But it is called Luctus, so i'm not exactly sure why you were expecting anything else


	3. Inanis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Healing, in itself, is subjective, Ezekiel finds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter was written to the song 'Home II' by Dotan, if you want to torture yourself a bit more. (I watched The 100 and the song resonated with me, so here, have this monstrosity of a chapter). 'Big Jet Plane' by Angus & Julia Stone also works too.
> 
> TW!!!- in this, Ezekiel struggles with eating, and there are graphic nightmares. If you're at all sensitive to this stuff, please please be careful
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I do not claim to know the in's and out's of ASL. I know the alphabet and a few short phrases, but I'm still learning, so please let me know if I have made this in any way offensive to anyone who signs.  
> DISCLAIMER II: Ezekiel doesn't develop an eating disorder. He's grieving, and when I personally grieve, I stop eating. I've had a couple of scares, which is what he had, and that had jumpstarted my forcing myself to eat again. I am in no way insinuating that eating disorders can be sorted within a few months, and if my work has given that impression AT ALL, please know it wasn't my intention.  
> Thank you.

A month since leaving the hospital. Ezekiel hadn't said a word. He responded with nods and the raising of eyebrows, and the others learnt to alter their questions to actually get a response. 

He learnt to communicate through art, and how the power of paint on canvas can relieve some of the pressure on his shoulders. He didn't let people see his paintings. 

Baird had a spare room full of old junk that she never used. During one of his weekly cleans, Ezekiel organised everything in there and claimed it as his workspace. He quit his job as a museum guide, unable to talk about the exhibits or answer any questions. What was the point of a guide if they couldn't do any guiding?

Instead, he took up a job that didn't require talking: Cataloguing in the back rooms of the New York Metropolitan Library. 

_"So, Mr Jones, why do you think you're cut out for this job?"_

_Baird spoke before Ezekiel could even react._

_"Ezekiel is... currently unable to talk. He's gone through a... a difficult experience shall we say, that has rendered him mute. So please keep your questions down to yes and no, so that he may actually be able to answer them,"_

_The interviewer raised a brow, looking from Ezekiel, to Baird, and back again. He put on a plastic smile and continued on with another question. "Allow me to rephrase then. Do you think that you're cut out for this job?"_

_Ezekiel nodded vigorously, forcing a polite smile that felt like a grimace._

_A piece of lined paper and a pen were slid over the desk, towards where Ezekiel was sat._

_"If you could please, in as much time as you need, explain why you think so?"_

His writing had been scrawled and uneven, but it must have been good enough to land him the job because from Monday to Friday, 8:30 am to 6:30 PM, Ezekiel worked in the Library, organising and cataloguing and rehoming the books there. 

It was tough. Oh God, it was such a struggle to drag his feet through the doors of the oh-so-familiar building every day, only to remain in the original library, not the one that gave him a new chance at adventure. But he grit his teeth and he stuck with it, and it eventually got easier. He still wasn't talking, but on his lunch break, he'd listen to the other cataloguers talk about their lives, and nod along just the same. 

 

He still wasn't eating very much. He was forcing down smoothies and soups at Baird's insistence, but could only manage half of what he'd be given. He tried to get back into the swing of going for a morning run, but barely had the energy to wake up on time anymore. His autopilot was glitching, breaking down and short-circuiting. He couldn't keep himself in line anymore, and it hurt too much to try. Besides from work and dinner, Ezekiel spent his time in the 'art cupboard', creating whatever he felt like, and leaving hours later covered in flecks of acrylic paint. He'd also paint on himself sometimes. Sunsets on his forearms, galaxies on his legs, flowers on the back of his hands, anything he felt like. Cassandra had asked him to paint a sunset on her back at some point, and he did, taking a photo of the finished piece. She'd set the painting as her lock screen within the next few hours. It was still there, the last time he checked. 

The others got used to the silence in the house. It wasn't so chilling after the first month and a half. They still had no idea why Ezekiel was mute, but Baird had talked to his therapist and asked a few questions. 

_"Legally, I can't outlet anything that happens during our sessions, due to patient-doctor confidentiality. But, I can tell you my thoughts on his behaviour outside of session. He's under great psychological duress. He's showing all of the signs of someone with PTSD- Irritability, sleep deprivation and insomnia, and self-destructive tendencies. I think the lack of speech we see in Ezekiel's case may be a knock-on effect from that. Is there anything that you know of in his past they may have caused this? A particularly jarring death of a loved one, or a personal experience?"_

_"Ezekiel's last job was very... emotionally taxing. We recently lost our friend Jenkins, that may be a part of it,"_

_"Yes, quite possibly. If you find any blank notebooks or journals, maybe think about giving one to Ezekiel so that he can write down his emotions and inner thoughts. I noticed a flower painted on his inner wrist during one of our sessions, so if he's expressing himself through art then maybe buy a sketchbook or something along those lines. Just because he isn't speaking, doesn't mean that he no longer needs to talk about his feelings. Let him know that if he needs you, you're there, but don't force him to tell you every single detail. He'll confide in you when he's ready,"_

 

Baird did as advised and let Ezekiel be, slipping him little things here and there that she noticed. If he was painting in dark colours it was usually because he ran out of white paint, and so she would buy him tubes of titanium acrylic. She always got little sticky notes with 'Thank you' or some other form of gratitude written on them whenever she did- she even got flowers at one point, and that's pretty much how they communicated. Little sideways glances, notes left by the kettle, the placing of a mug on the coffee table- small things. 

Ezekiel wasn't great, but he was healing. Slowly. 

Or, he was, until Baird's tongue slipped away from her. 

"Ezekiel, do you remember the video game?" 

He froze mid brush stroke, blue paint dripping onto the tan skin of his arms. 

His hands began to shake and he put his brush down, shaking his head weakly. He knew he hadn't convinced Baird- he wasn't trying to- it was a natural instinct he'd taught himself over the years of terror and trauma. Say you're fine and they don't ask questions. Fake it 'til you make it.

Eve deflated, her shoulders sagging. "Oh Ezekiel," she murmurs, pulling him into her embrace. He stands there, lifeless, the only motion present in his body being the sobs that tore from his lungs and the trembling of his shoulders. He doesn't let out a sound- just choked breaths that hurt his throat, hurt his chest.

He'd done so well. He'd hidden it and had convinced himself that he'd forgotten. He'd done such a good job of making his pain invisible, but here it was, clear as day, suffocating him once more.

When it was over, Baird didn't speak of the breakdown again, and Ezekiel was grateful for that. He didn't think he could handle the broken look she'd given him as the tears started to fall. Instead, he found two new books in his Art Cupboard the following week. A notebook and a sketchbook. Written on the first page of the notebook, in Baird's neat printing, was a note.

_You don't need to speak to talk to someone. I'm here if you need me._

No name needed. A hint of a smile found its way onto Ezekiel's face, and he picked up the sketchbook, eyes scanning the desk for a pencil.

 

Four months into Ezekiel's mutism, Stone decided that it was easier to teach Jones ASL than it was to scramble for a pen every time he wanted to write something down. When Ezekiel was sat at Baird's dining room table, eyes fixed onto his sketchbook- which was half full by that point- pencil moving erratically, Jacob sat down a couple of seats away and cleared his throat. Jones looked up from the paper pad and raised an eyebrow, which was seemingly enough for Jake to explain what he wanted.

"Do you know Sign?" he asked simply, head tilted to the side. "And not that thief finger-thumb thing where it's offensive to scratch your ear- like, ASL Sign,"

A tilt of the hand either way and a shrug was what he got in response. A 'kinda', of sorts.

"Do you know the Sign alphabet?"

Ezekiel nodded.

"I completed a degree in sign language a couple years back. I can teach you the basics if ya want, and that way ya wouldn't have to write everything out. Ya don't have to do it,  'course, but I just thought that maybe it would be helpful if-"

Sporadic nodding cut him off, a small smile on Ezekiel's lips. "So that's a yes?"

Another nod.

"Okay. So, you already know the alphabet, so if you ever get stuck you can just spell out the word, but here are the basics. Hello is this:" Stone raised a hand to his forehead in what looked like a salute, and then dropped his hand back down to his side. Ezekiel mimicked the motion, barely concealing a proud grin when Jacob gave him a nod of approval. 

Stone moved on to other phrases that Ezekiel would need to know, and after some time he started to get it, practising whenever he had the time, or whenever he was alone. The others adapted alongside him, learning as he did, and soon, they were conversing better than they were before. Granted, Baird was the one he would talk to most, but the fact that he _could_  converse with her was what made it such an amazing feat. 

It was during one of Ezekiel's practice sessions that Cassandra sat down beside him at Baird's dinner table, a small smile on her face. She signed as she spoke, giving Ezekiel the option of listening or watching. He'd usually choose to listen, but sometimes he had headphones in, so signing along had become a habit for Cassandra. 

 _"I was thinking that we could all go out tomorrow for a picnic in Central Park?"_ she proposed with a hopeful look on her face.  _"It's been a while since any of us have really had some time off, and the weather's supposed to be pretty good. Plus I noticed you haven't been in your art cupboard lately. Maybe you could take inspiration from the park? Like nature studies or something,"_

Considering it, Ezekiel drummed his fingers on the table, chin resting on his hand. He nods, flashing Cass a soft smile. 

_I'd like that. Have you asked Baird and Stone yet?_

Cass shook her head.  _"I figured that you and Baird would say yes, and Stone wouldn't have a choice after that- three against one and everything. I'm gonna ask him now that I have the two of you on board. I'll leave you to your... business, I guess,"_

 _Bye Cass,_ Ezekiel signed, smiling cheerfully before returning to his book. 

 

As it turned out, the park was a brilliant idea. Stone- who had been living solely between Baird's place, NYU, and the gym- had time to unwind and watch the clouds go by. Baird had some downtime after NATO put her on leave due to the hospital fiasco. She had about another three weeks before she was due on a mission again, and was itching to get out of the house. Cassandra got her 'family time', as she put it, in which she and Baird drank relatively fancy wine with some sort of high-tea sandwich plate between them.

Ezekiel even had some inspiration. He had nicked Baird's camera for the day and was taking multiple photos of the park surrounding them, the sun shining through dappled leaves, a few close-ups of a ladybug on a blade of grass, and quite a few photos of the people sat with him. He had managed to catch Baird mid-laugh, her head thrown back and her hand on her chest, pure happiness on her face. He caught a similar one of Cassandra, but she was much more contained in her laughter, the corners of her mouth quirking as she smiled to herself. 

Jacob was lying down on the grass, Stetson pulled low over his brow and sheltering his face from the sun, one arm under his head, the other across his abdomen. Ezekiel quickly caught a few snaps of that, reminding himself to print them all off later. After Jenkins' passing, Ezekiel wanted to document every single moment. He didn't have many photos from his time at the library, and in fifty, maybe sixty years, he didn't want to forget about the times he had with his family. Not the little moments, not the big moments. Ezekiel didn't want to forget any of it. 

Placing Baird's camera back into the picnic basket carefully, Ezekiel picked up his sketchbook and pencil, taking a sip from the chilled smoothie that Cass had made for him, knowing he couldn't stomach anything solid. There was also a thermos of soup for him if he wanted it, but he found the weather too hot for it. It was summer, after all. 

He leant back against the trunk of the tree they had settled under, one eye on the page, the other on his surroundings. He sketched everything out as a landscape, capturing the rough outlines of his friends and their shadows. Whenever he drew, Ezekiel got so far into his own head that he'd forget where he was, or what time it was. He wasn't even aware that someone was taking a photo of him until he heard the telltale _click-click_ of the camera shutter. His head snapped up to find Cassandra and Jacob huddled around the camera screen, smiling and nodding to one another, voices in a hushed whisper. Ezekiel knew why, of course. He never let anyone take photos of him, and they always had a bet to see who could get the least blurry photo of Ezekiel Jones. Whoever won got bragging rights for all eternity and dinner on the losers. Considering Cassandra had just snapped a high-definition, perfectly contrasted candid photograph of him, Ezekiel assumed Cass had just won the entire challenge. 

An eye-roll and the extension of his middle finger were the only reactions she got before Ezekiel went back to his drawing, sometimes glancing up to note the style of Baird's hair or how Jake's messy hair stuck out from under his Stetson, up at every angle. 

Sat there, drawing in the park alongside his family, Ezekiel felt more at home than he ever had in his entire life. And he felt so light at that moment, he wanted to revel in it forever. Maybe he was getting better like Dr Linda said he would. 

 

So, of course, almost a full week after their family outing, the nightmares Ezekiel thought had gone away for good came back to haunt him once more. 

_Scarlet eyes the colour of blood, claws on his skin, crimson on his hands, glassy eyes staring at him. The screams. Oh God the screams. Hands reaching for him, suffocating him, killing him._

_It chokes him, thick, hot blood running down his throat, clogging his lungs._

He woke up in an icy cold sweat, his cheeks damp, eyes sore, and his T-Shirt clinging to his body uncomfortably. His heart was beating a mile a minute, breath barely there. Slowly, and then all at once, the silent sobs wracked his body, scratching at his chest and slicing at his lungs. He got up, not wanting to disturb Cass and Baird- Stone was downstairs on the sofa, claiming that his 'back was wrecked anyway' and that 'Cass shouldn't have to put up with lower back pain too'. What they really meant was "We need our two most caring people to watch Ezekiel and make sure he's doing okay, lest we end up in the hospital again," 

Silently, his footsteps barely audible on the soft carpets of Baird's apartment, Ezekiel padded down the hall and into the living room, praying to every religious figure out there that Jake wasn't awake. 

No such luck. Fuck the deities- who needs them anyway? 

"Hey, Jones. What are you doing up so late?" 

Ezekiel panicked for a split second, wiping at his eyes hastily and fumbling to sign an explanation. 

 _Couldn't sleep._ he said simply, adding a shrug for good measure. 

Stone looked unconvinced. _"_ Nightmare?" he asked, eyebrows raised in question. Ezekiel, too tired to come up with an excuse, nodded and shuffled over to where Jacob was sat, flopping down beside him on the sofa.  

 _"Wanna talk about it?"_ he asked, shifting so that he was sat facing Ezekiel, who shook his head. 

 _Not really._ he signed,  _I'd rather just forget about it._

Nodding understandingly, Jacob dropped the subject. " _Okay. I'm here if you need me,"_ he said, and with that, he turned back to his book, turning the page in the low lamplight of the living room. Ezekiel read over his shoulder for a while until his eyes couldn't focus on the words properly, and then just rest his head on Stone's arm with a quiet huff. 

He could feel Jake staring at him from the corner of his eyes, so chose to speak what had been on his mind since he left the hospital all those months ago. 

 _You stayed._ he signed simply. Jake knew what he was talking about immediately. 

"I did," Jacob stated, putting his bookmark in between his book pages. It was clear he was in for a long conversation with the thief. 

Ezekiel's brow furrowed.  _Why?_

Jacob shrugged, a simple jerk of one shoulder. He couldn't answer that. "I don't quite know. You're my friend, I guess," 

He huffed again in what Jones assumed to be a derisive snort.  _Gee, thanks, pal. I feel so loved._

"Oh fuck off, Jones, you know what I mean. I stayed because it's what friends do- I would have done it for Cass or Baird." 

Ezekiel thought for a moment, nodding slowly as Jacobs words. 

_Do you always intertwine your fingers with your friends' hands?_

Shit. 

Jacob was thankful for the low light- it hid the embarrassment that was clear on his face. "I- uh... Um-" 

Another huff, probably in place of an actual chuckle.  _Don't worry about it. I asked you to stay, didn't I?_

"I didn't think you'd remember that," Stone admitted, albeit abashed. 

 _I remember it all._ Ezekiel said simply.  _Sometimes I wish I didn't._

Jacob looked confused. "Why so?" 

A shrug was the initial response he got.  _Because it spurs some confusing trains of thought. I hate being confused, it means I don't have a plan- and Ezekiel Jones always has a plan._

"Is there anything I could help with? I'm quite good at things like that, so I'm told," 

Ezekiel shook his head.  _No, thanks, I think I'm good for now._

He stood up, just a little ways away from Stone.  _I think I'm going to try and sleep again. See you tomorrow, Stone._

Jacob nodded. "Goodnight, Jones." 

Without thinking, Ezekiel leant down and pressed a kiss to Jake's cheek. It was barely a brush of lips against his skin, but it was enough to send a spark of electricity to Jake's chest. 

 _Goodnight, Jake._  

And, without turning back, Ezekiel made his way back to bed, closing the door to the living room behind him. Jacob sighed, letting his head fall back against the back of the sofa, his eyes fluttering shut. He rubbed his hands over his face, thumb brushing where Ezekiel had kissed him. 

Jacob groaned to himself, trying to drown out the thoughts that were rushing around his head at a mile a minute.

_"Shit."_

  

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. Am. So. Sorry.  
> I don't even have an excuse for not updating my works other than I've had no motivation.  
> GCSE's have been draining me of energy recently, and i'm in year 11 now, so it's all getting much more stressful.  
> BUT that's no excuse, i'm really sorry.  
> For anyone still reading this, I appreciate you and thank you for sticking with this piece. 
> 
> I think there'll be one or two more chapters after this, but I'm not entirely sure. It depends on how long the next one is. 
> 
> See ya!  
> -Skylar


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